


Duck Off

by RogueCerise1891



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueCerise1891/pseuds/RogueCerise1891
Summary: A collection of short stories inspired by prompts from my writing bestie, and some times me.





	Duck Off

“I HAVE SEVEN SWEATERS.”

“SEVERAL?”

“NO. SEVEN. EXACTLY SEVEN.”  


\- Kat

The road wasn’t a place that she had intended to make friends. Sadly, considering her current situation, Ally had to admit it might be her only option. She’d decided to make her own way, with very little to her name, after the town she had been born and raised in made their opinion about her questionable parentage clear.

She didn’t know who her dad was, but considering her mother had been a divorcee when the unknown sperm donor lead singer of a random rock band had rolled through town, it seemed irrelevant. Did she sometimes appear to be communicating with beings unknown? If one considered ghosts to be “unknown,” sure. Did she have a nasty habit of knowing when people were reaching their expiration date? Another irrelevant fact in the grand scheme of things, as far as she was concerned.

The threatening to open a murder investigation, with her as the only suspect, after the mayor had croaked when she predicted he would was entirely unnecessary. He was a diabetic with a sweet tooth and had a family history of heart issues. Still, the writing was on the wall and she knew it was time to say goodbye to the facsimile of a life she had had.

She stared morosely at the passing landscape from the bus she had hopped on to get the hell out of dodge. She didn’t even have someone she could depend on to drive her anywhere when she’d finally built up the courage to leave. She had had to bribe her older half brother with half of her precious, and meagre, go money to get her to the bus station in the next town over. More money was spent on a ticket for the earliest bus heading to Chicago. If she was lucky, she’d get out of Illinois all together, some day, but it was a decent first destination.

“What are you running from?” Startled out of her musings, she turned to face Frank, her aisle neighbour. “You have a backpack and no snacks. I checked. That’s last minute runaway shenanigans.”

The man, who appeared to be marginally older than her 19 years, hopped the aisle to fall into the seat right next to her. “You went through my bag?” She grabbed her pack, panicking about the little cash she had left, and cradled it to her chest. “Why would you do that?”

“Snacks.” He rolled his eyes, which caused her to be momentarily distracted by the pale blue, almost white, of his irises. “I was hoping you were smart, but disappointments abound.”

She blinked in surprise. He ignored her slack jawed, silent response as he pulled off his warn bomber jacket. Rolling it up, he shoved it behind his head and readjusted so he was lounging. When he was finished with that task, he turned his focus back to her, black fringe obscuring his eyes enough to keep her from getting dumbstruck, again.

Confusion took the place of shock when her eyes slid down to take in the visual assault that was his previously hidden sweater. He huffed as she continued to feast on the atrocity to clothing with its alternating brightly coloured geometric shapes, and rows of ducklings against the black background. The whole thing was made epically bad by the offensively orange “DUCK OFF” that was just visible across the chest, above his crossed arms.

“Where did you get that sweater?”

She kind of wanted one.

Shrugging, he reached a hand up to toy with the scythe pendant dangling from his left ear. “Lost and found at the station. I thought it would be a good addition to my persona.” He straightened slightly, as if proud. “I have seven sweaters.”

“Several?”

“No. Seven. Exactly seven.” Another eye roll at her expense. “You cannot be hard of hearing as well as dim. As a child of Hades, you have got to do better.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a child of who now?”

“Hades!” He cupped his hands, and shouted his response, as if he genuinely thought she was having trouble hearing him. “I’m the reaper assigned to you.”

“You’re a reaper? As in, grim?” He nodded, brows raised mockingly, “and I’m a child of the god of death?”

“Underworld.”

It was her turn to nod, slowly, as her eyes scanned her surroundings in search of an exit route. “Well, this has been fun. I hope the men in white coats are gentle when they come for you.”

“Haven’t you wondered why you can see dead people?” She paused in her clumsy attempt to climb over the seat back in front of her. “How about how you can know when people you’ve come in contact with are going to die? I can help you, if you help me.”

“How?”

He pulled her back into her seat by the hood of her coat and she grunted as her butt suddenly became reacquainted with cushion. “I’m not good at my job. How is irrelevant. What is important is that I don’t want to be put back into training. Shits boring. So, I propose that you find the ghosts that choose not to go beyond the veilvail and I’ll pay half rent.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He winked as he got settled back into the slouch she doubted was comfortable. “That being said, you talk to ghosts. In public.”

She slouched, as well, but in defeat. “You do have a point.”


End file.
